


Silence is Golden

by witteefool



Series: John and Sherlock Get It On [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: John is long suffering, M/M, PWP, Sherlock is frustrating even during sex, Virgin!Sherlock, enthusiastic sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 11:37:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witteefool/pseuds/witteefool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Initially John had found Sherlock's silence endearing—his no-longer-virgin lover was so overcome by John’s lovemaking abilities that the younger man couldn’t make a sound. But this boost to his ego was not to last—it became clear that Sherlock was perfectly capable of producing sound during sex. He wanted to, even. But for some unfathomable reason, the frustratingly gorgeous madman remained silent.  </p><p>This, whatever the cause, had to stop before John lost his reputation as a man who set lovers (loudly) aflame on three continents. One way or another John would hear his partner voice his pleasure tonight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence is Golden

**Author's Note:**

> I've read a lot of fic where Sherlock is loud enough during sex to shake 221B to the floor. Considering how reticent he is about sexual issues that didn't feel quite right to me. I thought I'd try a different POV. This fic has John & Sherlock already in a relationship.

           John thrust into Sherlock, who lay beneath him in a thoroughly enticing manner. The doctor knew his partner was enjoying himself; Sherlock’s moods had never been as undecipherable to John as they were to others. But the smaller man couldn’t help but be annoyed that (outside of John’s grunts and the slap of flesh against flesh) the room was silent. Despite protests otherwise, John sensed that Sherlock was still alarmed by the act of sex. And he could guess why (although Sherlock, had he known John’s theory, would deride him as an armchair psychologist.) So much of Sherlock’s identity was wrapped up in his cold, emotionally unavailable identity. To be passionate, to let go of your inhibitions and enjoy the moment—it was antithesis to the consulting detective.

            Nevertheless, John had just about had enough. Below him Sherlock looked rather ravishing—curls tousled, pale skin flushed pink. And his lips, with their perfect cupid’s bow, were reddened. Not by enthusiastic kisses, however (though there had been many earlier in the evening), but because the frustrating man was _biting his lip_!

            The sensible soldier in John knew not to be annoyed by the lack of audible pleasure Sherlock was (not) displaying. But it was quite hard to be sensible when one was balls-deep in their maddening partner.

            “Sherlock,” John moaned, hoping to lead by example.

            Silence. Not even a hum of acknowledgment. Sherlock’s hips were thrusting up, his left hand clutched at the sheets desperately, but he made no noise.

            This was not a new development. Initially John had found it endearing—his no-longer-virgin lover was so overcome by John’s lovemaking abilities that the younger man couldn’t make a sound. But this boost to his ego was not to last—it became clear that Sherlock was perfectly capable of producing sound during sex. He wanted to, even. But for some unfathomable (well, slightly fathomable if John’s half-formed hypothesis proved true) reason, the frustratingly gorgeous madman remained silent.

            Had he been more of an exhibitionist, John might use this to his advantage. Generally the detective wouldn’t shut up for a second and John had lost count of the number of times he had longed to gag the man (if only to keep him from pissing off every NSY officer in the vicinity.)

            But Sherlock’s verbosity was also part of what John loved about him. Sherlock was aware of the world, fascinated by it, to the extent that he couldn’t keep his deductions to himself. His speech was also the only key John had to his mind—certainly there was no pause between though and speech with Sherlock, regardless of the chaos that resulted.

            The quality of his voice was also much admired by the doctor (a fact which Sherlock was well aware of—he wasn’t afraid to use his lover’s quirks to his advantage.) Like the purr of the engine of a classy sports car Sherlock’s deep bass set John’s hairs on end. Never in a million years would John, a generally visual person when it came to sexual matters, have imagined that voice would prove such a turn-on.

            Before they had reached an understanding John’s fantasies had taken flight. He imagined the taller man crawling over him, growling in his ear, possessively stroking him to hardness and moaning enthusiastically as they raced to the finish. The thought of it still sent a shiver up John’s spine.

            This, whatever the cause, had to stop before John lost his reputation as a man who set lovers (loudly) aflame on three continents. One way or another John would hear his partner voice his pleasure tonight.

            Although his lizard brain objected strongly, John pulled out abruptly a rolled to his side. Sherlock, still hard, shifted onto one elbow and stared silently down. He looked both annoyed and puzzled. Viciously, John thought it served him right.

            “John?” He asked, unwilling to say that he didn’t understand what had stopped the doctor.

            But the game was a bust if John told Sherlock the issue at hand. John knew what that would lead to-- it would not be the first time Sherlock displayed his prodigious acting skills in order to please his boyfriend. One would think that after the third time of John simply shutting down at his false persona Sherlock would learn, but the genius could be surprisingly dense when it came to relationships.

            John smiled and licked his lower lip,

            “My shoulder’s a bit sore. How about you come over here?”

            He attempted to sound seductive but was doubtlessly failing. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and clambered over the bed until he was kneeling astride John. Once he arrived the detective seemed slightly uncertain what to do next. John maneuvered him until they were aligned and tugged slightly at Sherlock’s hips,

            “Come on, then.”

            Sherlock sank down, upper thighs shaking in exertion. The minute John’s member hit home Sherlock thrust his head back, a silent scream shaping his mouth into an O.

            It took an additional tug at Sherlock’s hips before the man remembered to move again, plunging and pulling up shallowly.

            John was close, Sherlock was getting closer each time his prostate was hit, but John obstructed the other man from taking himself in hand. No noise, no orgasm. Those were the rules of the game, even if Sherlock didn’t know they were playing. (And it was improving John’s mood quite a bit just to know he had the upper hand, for once.)

            Reaching both arms up, John pulled Sherlock into a deep, tongue-knocking kiss. It caused Sherlock to stop his thrusting but John hoped the right stimulation would allow Sherlock to let go.

            When breathing became a necessity John pulled back, stymied. Sherlock thrusts downwards grew quicker but he was now relying on both hands for balance. The prostate stimulation would not be enough to finish Sherlock off, John knew.

            Perhaps this experiment (and since when was John the one performing experiments on his flatmate?) was best continued when John wasn’t seconds away from the edge. Desperately, John stretched his left arm until he was able to flick at Sherlock’s nipple. But the wave was sweeping him up; it was no longer a question of mind over matter. With a guttural yell John came fervently.  
            It was hard to be disappointed after a fantastic orgasm but John couldn’t help but feel some sense of failure. Sherlock’s thrusts were weaker and John knew he was about to slip out, but surprisingly the telltale closing of Sherlock’s eyes indicated the other man was about to finish. Chastising himself for being selfish, John went for Sherlock’s cock with his hand.

            And the strangest, most glorious thing happened.

            Before John could even touch him Sherlock came violently. His body grew rigid for an instant and he thrust his head back once more, letting out a high-pitched, dog-whistle-esque wail.

            It was most definitely the last thing John expected. Deep voiced, emotionless Sherlock had screamed like a secondary school girl losing her virginity behind the football stands. It wouldn’t be kind to laugh, so John bit his lip.

            Sherlock collapsed beside him, eyes wide and unfocused,

            “John, John,” he murmured dazedly, “that was… That was good.”

            Trust Sherlock Holmes to understate the issue, John thought. He wrapped himself around the debauched detective, smiling widely.

            “Yes, yes it was.”


End file.
